


What Really Feels Good

by Forgive_Me_Severus



Series: The Kink Files [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And I use it pretty liberally, Auror Draco Malfoy, BAMF Hermione Granger, Background Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Confidence is sexy as fuck, Copious amounts of Firewhiskey, Cunnilingus, Dirty talking Draco, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Investigator Hermione Granger, It involves a Pensieve, Loss of Anal Virginity, Mentions of addiction, Office Sex, Oral Sex, She hunts fugitive Death Eaters, Smut, The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, The Kink Files Universe, Triad Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Vaginal Fingering, Work sex, and using sex as a coping mechanism, fuck is my favorite word, good girl hermione, kind of, mentions of stress and anxiety, porn with a plot, trying to manage post-war traumas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgive_Me_Severus/pseuds/Forgive_Me_Severus
Summary: Hermione's pretty sure her boss hates her. Why else would he assign her two cold cases? She's stressed, her anxiety levels are off the charts, and her usual coping mechanism soul-bonded the year before. Then Draco Malfoy shows up at her office late one Monday evening. Can he offer her a reprieve? Something that really feels good?A 'The Kink Files' One-Shot
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: The Kink Files [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058003
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	What Really Feels Good

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Wizarding World. 
> 
> Rating: MA/Ex/NC-17 for smutty smutness and crude language
> 
> A simple musing: So, I usually (read: pretty hardcore) fancast Tom Felton as Draco in my fics, but I could NOT get Lucky Blue Smith out of my head for this particular story. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> //DO NOT VIEW END NOTES UNTIL AFTER YOU READ THE STORY. I add my thoughts about the content of this story there, and you'll spoil it if you read the end notes first.//

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_______________________________________________

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Investigation Division

2003  
_______________________________________________

His lips parted in a mad grimace. His dark eyes widened and crinkled at the corners as a silent laugh erupted from his mouth. Thin, filthy prison robes hung off his bony shoulders, tattered and torn from decades of use. His ebony hair hung to his collarbone, laden with the grease and grime of Azkaban.

It was the prison photo of a man she, unfortunately, knew very well.

The man who almost killed her in the Department of Mysteries.

The man she dueled in a small Muggle café.

The man whose memories she took after said duel.

The man who escaped capture after the Final Battle of Hogwarts five years prior.

The man she never wanted to see again – unless it was in a body bag.

Yet, it was her job to find him.

Antonin Dolohov.

She flipped the manila case folder shut and sighed heavily. Slouching in her office chair, the Muggle kind with wheels that rolled across the floor with the sudden movement, she squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

The monster hadn’t even been _seen_ since the final battle. For all she knew (and secretly hoped for), a stray curse caught the fucker mid-Apparition and he was dead before he even set two feet back on the ground.

How Grant expected her to find the ghost of a man was beyond her - and it stressed her out.

She used to be calm and collected, especially under pressure. She was the level-headed one, the logical one, the one whose emotions were subdued to get the job done - to _survive_. But after the war, she began to get agitated easier, quicker. Logic flew out the window, and stress and anxiety took over.

Then she discovered that sex was the perfect way to manage those new emotions.

But when Harry soul bonded with Pansy and Ginny last year, she lost her partner.

And she was beginning to feel the effects of it.

She groaned, kicked off her heels, and stood from her chair. Placing her hands on her lower back, she curved her spine just enough to ease the tension growing there, her eyes closing with the pleasant stretch.

Interlacing her fingers, she cupped the back of her head, her thumbs rubbing the column of her spine as she walked around her desk and stood before the roaring fire in her office’s hearth.

 _Walk back through what we know_ , Hermione thought as she watched the flames crest and fall.

_Dean and Parvati stated they dueled him at the Battle of Hogwarts._

_Dolohov killed Remus_ … Hermione sucked in a shaky breath, but quickly pushed the sorrow to the back of her mind. She needed to focus.

_Dolohov was guarding the Forbidden Forest during the retreat._

_Dolohov dueled Professor Flitwick when the battle resumed._

_Then… nothing._

_Professor Flitwick lost him after Harry killed Voldemort._

_This_ was the extent of the information she had. _This_ was how she was supposed to find Dolohov, with meager breadcrumbs that lead to a dead end. Even his life prior to the First Wizarding War was wrapped in vague rumors which landed her in Russia for a few weeks, investigating lead after lead, with nothing to show for it except a new appreciation for Kvasya.

Hermione rolled her eyes, her head falling back on her hands and she grunted loudly in irritation. Grant was punishing her. For what, she didn’t know. But that was the only explanation she had for why he would assign her a case that had been cold for five years, despite the number of man hours that had been dedicated to finding Dolohov.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, pressed her thumbs deeper into the column of her spine, and tried to ignore the tingle in her clit that accompanied the growing tendrils of anxiety.

She needed to get laid.

Badly.

Either that or take up a potions addiction.

She barked out a bitter laugh.

Those weren’t her only two options, of course. There _was_ therapy. In fact, it had been highly recommended, and Kingsley even had a Mind Healer on retainer for all the survivors, should they find they needed one.

But she _didn’t_ need one. She managed just fine.

With sex.

That she was actively _not_ getting.

Round and round she goes. Where she stops, nobody knows.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake…_

She took a deep breath in through her nose then exhaled through pursed lips. Deep breath in, exhale. Deep breath in, exhale.

A sudden rap on her office door drew her out of her thoughts, and Hermione’s head whipped around, her hands dropping to her sides. Her brows furrowed and her eyes quickly flicked to the window that reflected a midnight blue sky. She didn’t exactly know what time it was, but she _did_ know that she should have been the only one left in the building – or at _least_ the department - after a busy Monday workday, as per the usual.

Another rap came, louder this time, and Hermione took a tentative step toward the door.

“Granger, it’s me.”

She froze.

_Fuck._

Delicious Draco Malfoy was right outside her office door and damn it if her knickers weren’t instantly soaked with that knowledge.

Malfoy was handsome. _More_ than handsome, really. Stunning, exquisite, captivating… god-like for all intents and purposes. But Hermione wasn’t _that_ shallow. She appreciated him for more than being a pretty face that brightened up the weekly department meetings.

He had grown from being the pointy, spoiled, bigoted git of his youth to a spoiled, arrogant arsehole who spent countless Galleons advocating for the rights of all magical beings (a fact that confused the shite of her for _months_ after she found out where the anonymous donations for her non-profit were coming from), worked well with Harry as Lead Auror - and actively rejected his family’s long history of blood elitist ideology, which ninety-nine point nine per cent made up for his cocky personality. If Draco Malfoy weren’t the stuff of her nightly wet dreams, she didn’t know what – or _who_ , rather - was.

Too fucking bad he was thoroughly unavailable.

Internally groaning, she closed the short distance between the couch and the door, and opened it just enough to see Malfoy standing mere feet from her. Merlin, the man was heaven wrapped up in Gucci. Her eyes fell to his expensive Italian leather loafers, then slowly grazed upwards, drinking in toned thighs in well-tailored navy trousers and a broad chest under a pale pink turtleneck, lingering on full, pink lips curved up in a smug grin, then finally landing on grey eyes that were alight with amusement.

She sighed, wiggled her thighs together in an attempt to unstick the uncomfortably drenched gusset of her knickers from her pussy lips, then fully opened the door. She quickly peered down the long, dimly-lit corridor, scanning the hall for flickers of light emitting from underneath the other office doors. Nothing. Her eyes flicked around the rest of the open floor plan; desks were empty, cubicles vacant - had been for hours.

They were alone.

Draco Malfoy traveled up a floor from the Auror Division and in the opposite direction of the Ministry Floos to… what? Have a casual conversation? At whatever-o-clock at night? The thought made her internally snort.

Cocking an eyebrow in part intrigue, part confusion, she refocused her attention back on Malfoy, crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him.

He was standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, a navy suit jacket she hadn’t noticed before was folded vertically and laying at the juncture where his wrist met the seam of his pocket. His white-blonde hair was swept casually to the side, and just long enough for her to curl her fingers into as she… Hermione cleared her throat, pushing the arousal-enhancing thoughts aside as he returned her stare.

Unexpected frustration mixed with the anxiety and she audibly groaned, dropping her arms and rubbing her sweaty hands down the length of her pencil skirt, her hair swinging into her face with the action. It was a move she tried to hide from everyone, but she didn’t really try very hard when it came to Malfoy. She didn’t see a point. They fought in the same war. They all suffered the same post-war traumas.

“What do you need, Malfoy?” Hermione finally asked, and with fidgety hands, she secured her curly hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head. She noticed Malfoy follow the movement with his eyes, which didn’t help the tingle in her clit – or the mounting frustration in her gut.

His gaze lingered on her newly exposed neck, causing a faint blush to creep along the apples of her cheeks, but then he turned and picked up a manila envelope that sat on the desk behind him.

Holding it up, he paced forward and held it out to her. Hermione eyed it for a moment, then grabbed it and flipped it open. It was the case file on Thorfinn Rowle, another fugitive Death Eater. He had been spotted in the more recent past, but not often enough to track his movements or establish his whereabouts, temporary or otherwise. 

She glanced up at Malfoy, and was slightly taken aback when she saw he was studying her features. The flush crept back up on her face, the tingle grew into a throb, and she immediately drew her eyes away from him and turned around, heading back into her office, twitching her head in a manner that meant he was to follow.

Hermione walked around her desk and placed the open folder on top of Dolohov’s, then cleared her throat, adjusting her stance just enough to ease the pressure on her clit.

She _really_ needed to get this impromptu meeting over with and find a bloke for a one-off.

The Leaky was too obvious and public.

A Muggle pub then?

“Rowle’s not mine,” Hermione stated as she sat in her chair, crossing her legs tightly. She glanced up and tried not to notice how sexy Malfoy looked leaning against the raised back of the couch. She tried not to notice the way his legs were crossed, pulling taut against those toned thighs, or how the fabric of his turtleneck stretched across muscled biceps. Or the way his smug grin never faded from his perfectly-sculpted face, like he knew what she was thinking…

And she didn’t like it.

No, she didn’t like it at all.

Okay, _maybe_ she didn’t like it?

She internally grunted.

He shrugged nonchalantly in response to her statement. “Potter told me to hand it off to you. We can’t keep case files that aren’t active.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “Wait… Harry cannot just delegate fugitives to me. It has to go through Grant- “

“I know. Grant told Potter to give you Rowle after the last tip exhausted. Then Potter asked me to pass it onto you - and apologize profusely on his behalf.”

Hermione’s lips thinned into a line, the frustration in her gut turned to anger, her clit began to painfully pulsate, and she shot up out of her seat, pacing around to the front of her desk.

“Asked you to apologize _for_ him? Why didn’t he just come to me himself? We had lunch three days ago! He could have given- “

“He would have, but he’s been… busy,” Malfoy said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Hermione’s jaw dropped open. What in the hell had transpired over the last three days for Harry to be ‘busy,’ and why the _fuck_ did Draco Malfoy, of all people, know about said ‘business’ before s _he_ did?

“Wha- “

“You seem agitated,” Malfoy interrupted.

Hermione blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change of topic. She closed her mouth, just for it to drop open again, at a loss for words. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she recovered from her momentarily shock and suddenly felt very defensive.

“What’s it to _you_ , Malfoy?”

It seemed to happen in slow motion. She saw the corners of his lips quirk up before they parted just enough for the tip of his pink tongue to flick out and run the length of his bottom lip.

She sucked in a breath.

His eyes flicked up to her, mirth dancing in his molten silver gaze, and he tucked his bottom lip between straight, white teeth as he pushed off the couch, his arms falling to his sides, and closed the short distance between them until they were toe-to-toe.

Her heart picked up its rhythm. She took a moment, her focus on the expanse of his chest, before dragging her eyes up to meet his. She refrained from sucking in another breath, willing her heart to slow down, willing the thoughts whirling in her mind, questions she desperately wanted answers to, to just go _away_.

Lifting his hands, he lightly grasped her arms and slowly ran his fingers down bare skin. She jumped at his unexpected touch, her eyes lowering to watch his hands, and silently thanked Merlin she chose her favorite short-sleeved blouse to wear that day. His hands darted to the small of her back then ran up the length of her spine, the tips of his fingers catching on satin buttons as he went.

Arousal pooled in her knickers and she shimmed her legs together, nervous anticipation replacing the frustration. Her gaze landed on Malfoy’s eyes and couldn’t help the sharp inhale of air: His pupils were blown in lust, encompassing nearly all the grey.

She swallowed.

He smirked as one of his hands drifted down to her hip while the other curled into the base of her skull, loosening some curls from her haphazard ponytail.

“Because you’re like _me_ when I’m agitated,” Malfoy mumbled, his eyes flicking down to her lips. She watched his gaze on her mouth, watched his tongue dart out between his lips again, and then he was lowering his head slowly – too slowly – as if to give her the opportunity to stop him from kissing her if she wanted to.

She _didn’t_ want to.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a staccato-like stutter she was sure he was going to hear, as his lips met hers. He was gentle at first, his lips soft and moldable under her own, but her eyelids fluttered closed and she swung her arms up around his neck, pulling him into her, crushing their mouths together.

His tongue poked out, swiping at the crease of her lips, begging to be let through – and she let him. Their tongues met in a dance and she moaned, suddenly needing to feel more of him, _all_ of him.

Their bodies were flush, her breasts pushing into his chest, his erection probing at her hip. She moaned again, her hips twitching forward in response, and she felt his hand leave her hip just to glide along her tight pencil skirt and cup a buttock, squeezing.

Breaking their kiss, Malfoy murmured huskily, “Oh, Gods, Granger… Do you have _any_ idea what these sinful little pencil skirts you wear do to me?”

Breathing heavily, the corner of Hermione’s lip quirked up as she rested her forehead against his collarbone.

“Because I wear them just for _you_ ,” Hermione responded sarcastically, detaching her arms from around his neck, her fingers playing with the high collar of his turtleneck.

He chuckled deeply and the sound sent a tingle down her spine, causing her to shudder.

She bit her lip, lifting her head and opened her eyes, honey meeting pupil-blown grey. His other hand uncurled from her hair and swept across her desk, sending picture frames, rolls of parchment, case files, and quills all to the floor before he cupped her other arsecheek and lifted her onto her desk – her skirt riding up her thighs - stepping in between her legs.

“Don’t you?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, his eyes flicking down to her mouth once more before swooping in to lock her lips in another searing kiss.

Despite the throb in her clit, the butterflies in her stomach, and anticipation running through her veins, she wanted to protest his question, deny it until the day she died, because Hermione Granger would _never_ dress to capture the attentions of a man.

Except… if she did protest his question – and deny it fervently - she would be lying.

Even while she and Harry slept together, she couldn’t help but notice Draco Malfoy. The man, the Auror, he had become. She couldn’t help but notice the tight-fitting suits he wore to work, only changing them when he had to don his work-issued Auror’s uniform – which, if she were being honest with herself, did worse things to her knickers than his two-thousand pound designer suits.

She also couldn’t help but notice the tall, slim, model-like witches he brought around on Friday nights when all of their mutual friends would get together for drinks. How they dressed in curve-hugging dresses and skirts. How they were carefully put together, not a hair out of place. How he would wrap an arm around their tiny waists and smirk down at them in that cocky manner that made her want to punch him as much as snog him.

And suddenly, she detested her frumpy, ankle-length linen skirts and the wild bush of her hair that was just as famous as she was. She was tired of being seen as _just_ a brain, _just_ logical. She wanted to feel like a confident, sexy twenty-year-old woman on top of being a genius.

So, she didn’t change her style, learn to tame her hair into silken curls, and apply light layers of make-up that enhanced her natural beauty necessarily _for_ Malfoy, but _because_ of Malfoy. _He_ made her want to feel more than the slip of a girl who was lauded as Brightest Witch of her Age, one-third of the Golden Trio, Harry Potter’s best friend, the brains behind the defeat of the Dark Lord. She wanted her business card to read ‘Hermione Granger, BAMF – Lead Investigator, The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Investigation Division,’ and _feel_ sexy while handing them out.

That was three years ago.

That also happened to be a transition she thought would help her stress and anxiety, and tried to ease herself off using sex as a coping mechanism. It didn’t really work for the anxiety, but it _did_ help her confidence. She considered that a win.

Then after Malfoy began to notice her as more than the Know-It-All from his year at Hogwarts, as someone other than just another co-worker he had to tolerate during Monday morning briefings, as someone who he began to look at as a _woman_ , he went off and got engaged…

Wait…

Her eyelids flipped open as Malfoy broke the kiss, diverting his attention to a sensitive patch of skin between her jaw and neck. It felt so good. Her eyes wanted to flutter closed again, but she placed her hands on his chest, slightly pushing him away.

He looked at her, though not in confusion. Almost… trepidation? Perhaps he thought the teasing question of her skirt went too far? Maybe he thought she was rejecting him?

He began to take a step backwards, but she grabbed his shoulders and shook her head.

“No,” she said, answering his unspoken questions. He seemed to understand, but stiffened just the same, and the trepidation was replaced with a questioning gaze. Hermione was almost confused. His expressions were a far cry from the arrogancy he exuded on a daily basis; she didn’t really know how to work with _this_ Malfoy.

She cleared her throat. “It’s not that I don’t want… whatever _this_ is, but I thought you were engaged to Astoria Greengrass?”

He scowled and stepped fully away from her, turning around until he faced the roaring fire. She frowned and tried not to let the overwhelming feeling of disappointment flood her system. Clearing her throat again, she licked her bottom lip, chewing on it. When it became obvious he wasn’t going to answer her question, she hopped down from the desk, smoothed down her skirt and crouched to gather the case files and parchment that were swept to the floor, carefully not looking toward his looming presence in the room.

She felt foolish, embarrassed, and, yes, disappointed. What was she to Malfoy? A last shag before he married his perfect, aristocratic bride? The beginning tendrils of disgust mixed with her embarrassment and she suddenly wanted him out of her office, off her floor, and out of the building altogether. 

When she stood, she tossed the case files onto her desktop and twirled to face him, to ask him to leave, but didn’t expect him to be standing mere feet from her, his pupils still blown in lust, but somehow also softer.

“We were arranged, yes. Years ago. The contract was ‘activated’ when she turned twenty, with a year-long engagement attached to it. But she broke the contract when I found out she eloped in Italy with Blaise Zabini.”

For the second time that night, Hermione was at a loss for words. She stared at him, and despite his earlier reaction, he didn’t seem upset by the revelation.

“How long ago was this? I haven’t seen anything about it in The Prophet,” Hermione said after a moment, leaning her hip against the desk and crossing her arms over her chest.

He chuckled that deep, throaty chuckle, and her clit tingled with the sound. She internally scoffed, rubbed her thighs together, and silently admonished her hormones. It was as if her body and mind hadn’t just gone through fifty different emotions and sensations in a five-minute time span, and it made her head whirl.

“Two months ago. My mother is… _friends_ with Rita Skeeter. It was kept out of the papers. The world still thinks we’re betrothed, but in ‘due time’, we’ll let it slip that we separated, and Merlin forbid, it won’t create a huge scandal,” he rolled his eyes, “It’s been done as a kindness towards the Greengrass family. ‘Reputation’ and all that rubbish,” Malfoy finished, his lips twitching into an almost infinitesimal scowl.

“However,” he continued, taking a step towards her, that familiar smug grin on his lips again, “This ‘kindness’ has become quite burdensome for me, you see.” 

She cleared her throat and adjusted her stance, not allowing her arms to fall to her sides, but wiggling her legs enough to rub the ever-present tingle in her clit.

He took another step towards her.

She pushed off from her desk, arms still crossed tightly across her chest, but her heart began to pound against her ribs, anticipation slowly leaking back into her veins.

“Oh?” Hermione finally responded, “Why has it become burdensome? It’s pretty selfless, actually.”

He stopped when they were toe-to-toe once more, and her breath stuttered on the exhale.

“Selflessness _can_ be burdensome, Granger,” Malfoy retorted, bringing a hand up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers whispering across the shell.

She shuddered. “How so?”

Hermione met his eyes, and the corner of his lips curled higher.

“Because,” he began, leaning down far enough for his lips to hover over hers, “It means for over eight months – the six months we spent in tied up in a mind-numbing, loveless contract of _duty_ coupled with the two months of cleaning up the mess in our respective families while si _multaneously_ trying to ensure the news doesn’t make its way to the papers by some outside means – I haven’t been able to fuck you. Which has been quite,” his eyes flashed to hers, then back to her lips as he purred, “ _burdensome._ ”

She wasn’t able to say anything, unable to react, not even able to _moan_ at his words before he recaptured her lips in a bruising open-mouthed kiss.

 _Fuck_ , his tongue felt like silk and tasted like sin.

He pushed his body into hers, his hands swinging up to cradle her head, pulling her closer to him. A guttural grunt escaped Hermione’s throat as he broke the kiss, trailing butterfly kisses down the length of her jaw, suckling at the sensitive skin below her ear, then moving to the hollow of her neck, his tongue swiping across her clavicle.

“Gods, Granger, you smell so good, taste so good,” Malfoy mumbled into her skin, his hands unfurling from her curls and traveling to the top button of her blouse, unclasping it.

Hermione sucked in her bottom lip as her head fell back and her eyelids fluttered closed. She leaned against her desk – half sitting on it, really – and brought her hands to the waistband of his trousers, untucking his turtleneck, and her palms met washboard abs. She groaned, trailing her hands up, fingertips ghosting across toned pectorals, then around to his back and down, sliding along his waistband until they rested at the V of his hips.

Whether it was an unconscious reaction or not, his hips thrust forward, his hardened length jutting into her stomach, and she suddenly couldn’t think of anything else except touching _him._

Her fingers found the clasp of his trousers and quickly slid it open, lingering only for a moment at the zipper before slowly sliding it downwards. Hermione felt him smile against her collarbone as he finished with the last button on her blouse, helping her pull the satin away from her chest.

He didn’t stop. His tongue found the mound of her breast, his lips seeking her puckered nipple, sucking at it through the lacy material of her bra.

“Oh…” she groaned as her fingers found themselves back at his trousers, and pushed the expensive fabric down over his rounded arse just enough that they caught on his thighs, his thick cock bouncing free. Hermione stilled, not expecting Malfoy to have gone sans pants.

His deep chuckle was husky in his throat. “Did I forget to tell you I don’t wear underwear?”

Fuck if that little tidbit didn’t cause her arousal to drip down her inner thigh.

Something primitive fired in her gut and she growled, impatient now, her hands leaving his trousers to fly up into his hair, pulling his head back and planting a searing kiss on his lips. He smirked against her lips, and with expert fingers, unclasped her bra, the lingerie falling at their feet.

He cupped her breasts, gently kneading, his thumbs flicking across her taut nipples. With a gasp, she broke their kiss, and he dipped his head, pulling a breast into his warm mouth, his tongue swirling the nub. His hands slid slowly down her sides, his fingertips feathering over her ribs, and finding the zipper on the back of her skirt, the tiny piece of clothing puddled at her feet. Suddenly, she was clad before Draco Malfoy in nothing but her soaked knickers.

He stepped back from Hermione – his cock bouncing with the motion - and studied her under hooded lids.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he croaked, lifting her up and sitting her fully on the desk. Grasping her neck gently, he brought her in for a chaste kiss before pushing her down, flush with the furniture.

His hands grasped her thighs, tugging her until her arse almost hung off the edge of the desk, then slid his palms up her legs, his thumb meeting a trail of her arousal. He clicked his tongue, tucking his bottom lip in between his teeth, and shook his head.

“ _Fuck_ , Granger…” he murmured, lowering his head and she gasped when his tongue licked at the trail, following it up until his mouth landed on the drenched gusset of her knickers. She cried out as he sucked and licked, as he found her clothed clit and nibbled. She bucked her hips and her hands swung down, her fingers curling into his soft hair.

Tucking the seam of her knickers to the side, he gently ran a knuckle through her silken folds – from clit to core – and then slid a single digit into her cunt, his thumb meeting her sensitive nub.

“You’re so _tight_ , Granger, so _perfect_ ,” he muttered against her skin, planting a kiss on her mound, his thumb moving in circles, thrusting his finger before adding a second.

Jaw dropping open, her back arched off the desk, her legs trembling with his ministrations. “Jesus, Malfoy…”

She felt him adjust his stance, kneeling on the floor, his face at her cunt, and he groaned. “You have the most perfect little cunt, you know that, right?” Then he tasted her, the tip of his tongue replacing his thumb, and her hips bucked, her fingers grasping at his hair. His tongue wrapped around her clit, sucking her into his mouth before dragging his tongue through her folds, then met his pumping fingers and lapped at the arousal coating his digits.

A moan vibrated in his throat.

“Fucking hell. I could get drunk off you…” He trailed off, flattening his tongue against her clit, flicking and swiping, sucking and nibbling. Her hips bucked harder, her hands pulling him closer to her, sweet pressure building in her gut.

His fingers left her cunt suddenly, and she whimpered then growled when he kissed her clit and pulled away. Looking down the length of her body, they locked eyes and she watched as he brought each digit to his lips, slowly cleaning them of her essence. She groaned, biting her lip, but wiggled her hips impatiently.

Her clit ached too much for games.

“Malfoy, I swear to _fucking_ Merlin- “

“I wonder, Granger,” he interrupted, his smug grin curling at his lips and dropped his hand from her view, “Have you ever been touched… here?”

A fingertip dipped into her core, gathering her arousal, then gently slid downwards and met puckered flesh. She jumped, eyes widening when she realized what he was doing, but any momentary apprehension was overwhelmed by a spark that shot up her spine.

That felt… _good_.

Her eyes fluttered closed and her hips rose, meeting his hand, the tip of his finger swirling around the flesh, and his mouth met her clit once more. She gasped at the contact, the dual sensations - his lips pulling at her, the tip of his finger using her dripping arousal to tease the opening - made her lightheaded.

“ _Ohhh_ …” Hermione groaned, her back arching. Her head lolled onto her shoulder and watched his tongue lap at her, his finger slipping further in her backside. It was unlike anything she ever experienced before, an unexpectedly pleasant pressure.

As the warm mixture of their combined fluids coated her opening, another digit slid in alongside the first – stretching her, preparing her - and a burst of anticipation flooded her veins.

“You like that? Does that feel good?” Malfoy mumbled against her mound, his heavy breath tickling her sensitive flesh as he slowly pumped his slickened fingers in and out of her. 

Hermione nodded, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, and arched her hips again in encouragement. “Gods, yes…”

“If you’re a good girl, Granger, if you come on my tongue now, I’ll fill your sweet little arse and show you what _really_ feels good.” His tongue circled her entrance, dipping in and licking her, then flattened up her folds before settling on her clit. Wrapping his lips around her, he slid two fingers into her cunt and she gasped at the fullness. Never had she ever felt so full before.

With expert synchronicity, he pumped all four fingers in… and out, his tongue lavishing her, licking and worshipping – and then she felt it. It came so suddenly, the white-hot pleasure. Rolling through her body in pulses, she’d never felt such intensity and she cried out, stars dancing in her vision.

Hermione’s senses dulled as her body twitched with post-orgasmic tremors. She vaguely felt his fingers leave her body, her knickers slide down her legs, and the kisses he planted on her stomach. Far away sounds of clothing hitting the floor, the fire crackling in its hearth, and her heavy breathing were easily ignored. She felt limp and blissful when Malfoy picked her up and walked her to the couch.

“You’re so good, Granger. Such a good girl. Do you think you can handle a little more?” Malfoy praised, laying her on the couch, licking the hollow of her throat. Numbly, she nodded. Even in her haze, she remembered the promise he made, the promise of showing her what really felt good.

“Good… so good. I’m going to make you feel so good,” he said huskily. She felt him lift her hips and placed something soft under her lower back – one of her decorative pillows, she thought lazily - then pulled her knees apart. She let them fall open and he settled himself between them, his fingers dipping into her still-sopping core, and probed them at her backside.

They slid in easily and Hermione grunted, her head digging into the cushion, her hands grasping the sides of the couch for purchase.

“Okay?” he asked, pulling his fingers out, then pushing them in slower.

She couldn’t talk; her tongue was too heavy, her jaw immovable, so she bucked her hips in response, needing _more._ He chuckled before thrusting them in one last time.

“You’re going to need to relax your whole body,” he instructed with a clearing of his throat, “I’m quite a bit bigger than two fingers.”

She nodded again and relaxed. His fingers slid out, but she was empty for barely a second before she felt the head of his cock at her backside, letting her know he was there.

He mumbled something above him – sounded like a cleaning spell – before his fingers found her cunt again and they plunged in, curling towards her front wall. Hermione groaned, lifting her hips, nodding her head.

_Yes, yes…_

She felt the pressure of him pushing in her, the puckered flesh of her arse resisting, and he backed away before thrusting forward again. His fingers pumped her cunt, his thumb finding her clit, and suddenly his cock was inside her, filling her, and he was right – he was _much_ bigger than a couple of fingers.

She stiffened.

It didn’t hurt, not really. But it was too much. She was _too_ full.

Draco stilled his hips, but his fingers lazily continued curling inside her cunt, touching a sensitive spot that made Hermione shudder. “Let me know if you want to stop…”

“Just… give me a moment. To adjust,” she said thickly, relaxing her thighs, willing her to body to relax around him. She closed her eyes… to feel. She felt the slow pumping of his fingers in and out of her cunt, his thumb flicking across her sensitive nub, then his free hand as his fingertips feathered over her tender skin, traveling upwards towards her breasts, cupping her, feeling her hardened nipples under his palms.

Then there was his cock, long and thick – probably delicious to suck on – sheathed half-way in her arse. No, it didn’t hurt at all, she realized. There was pressure, yes, but it was going away. And in its place – with him stroking her cunt and clit, pinching and twisting her nipples – pleasure.

She moaned, then opened her eyes. Honey met grey, and she nodded, relaxing even more as he pushed in, bottoming out.

His eyes fluttered closed, his mouth gaping open slightly, and his head tilted backwards onto the nape of his neck. The look on his face was all it took for her to gush around his fingers. He was beautiful in taking his pleasure, the long, lean lines of his neck met the toned muscles of his shoulders and chest, and her gaze traveled further down to his abs, rippling and contracting with his heavy breathing, his fingers slow and purposeful in pleasing her, and when he pulled out – his heavy erection, coated in her dripping arousal, gleaming in the firelight – she whimpered and lifted her hips, encouraging him, _needing_ to see the bliss on his face as he took her. He pushed into her again and they groaned together - his more guttural - and he shuddered.

“You… have no idea, Granger. No fucking idea how amazing you feel. So fucking tight for me. So…” He trailed off and his eyes popped open again, his brows furrowing in concentration as his hips retracted, then snapped forward.

She closed her eyes, feeling him stretching her, feeling his fingers play with her, and warmth flooded her lower belly.

_Fuck, yeah, that’s… so good._

But… she needed _more_.

Needed him to go _harder. Faster._

Hermione uncurled her hands from the couch cushions, and swung up, one replacing his fingers on her nipple, then other sliding between the valley of her breasts, down her stomach, and landed on the hand on her clit. Shoving his hand out of the way, she twirled her fingers over her sensitive flesh, inhaling sharply as she dipped two fingers in her cunt, dragging the juices back up to her clit, circling and pinching.

“Ah, _fuck_ , witch… That’s right,“ he groaned, grabbing her thighs, his palms digging into her flesh with each thrust of his hips, “Fuck your cunt… Holy shite, that’s hot. How does it feel? Tell me how it feels with your fingers in your sweet pussy and my cock in your arse.”

“It feels…” she croaked, gasping as he reached around, his fingertips curling into her arsecheeks as his hips slapped forward, then again, and again. Her jaw dropped open, any coherent thoughts floating away as she exploded with a guttural moan. Lightning sparked down her limbs, into her toes and fingers, warmth flooding her body, shattering in orgasmic bliss. If she thought coming on his tongue was intense, it was nothing compared to her cunt clenching around her own fingers, her clit twitching under her palm, with his cock pistoling in and out of her arse.

“Merlin… fucking… hell…” Malfoy mumbled, his hips wildly thrusting now. He slid two fingers back into her cunt, pumping them through the last waves of her orgasm, and he stuttered a growl. She felt his cock swell, then his head flung back to rest on the nape of his neck. With a throaty groan and a last thrust, he came, his body jerking with forceful release.

He collapsed to the couch, landing on his forearms on either side of her head, his face tucked into the crook of her neck. He kissed the column of her throat, his heavy breath tickling her skin. She smiled lazily, her hands feathering up the muscles in his back and smoothed back the hair covering his face.

“It felt so much better than just 'good'. And fuck me, but I want you to do it to me again.”

He chuckled, his hands curling into the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail, and lifted his head, meeting her eyes.

“Granger, I will fuck you in your cunt, in your arse,” he kissed the corner of her mouth, “in your mouth with my cock, my fingers, and my tongue in every position your big brain can imagine for however long you’ll allow me to.”

...

The room swirled, the image faded to black, and the five of them pulled their heads from the Penseive and sat back onto the plush sofas. No one immediately said anything. The Potters’ living room was eerily quiet, only the occasional popping and crackling of the flames in the fireplace lent any sound to break the silence.

Hermione’s face flushed, though she didn’t know if it was because their dearest friends just watched Draco fuck her in the arse for the first time or because of the copious amounts of Firewhiskey she had ingested during their risqué game of ‘Drink & Pensieve.’

Her eyes flicked around the room. Draco had a smug smile on his face. He was side eyeing her, his hand lazily flopping down on her upper thigh, squeezing and kneading her bare skin. She knew – as she glanced at the bulge in his trousers – what was going to happen when they got home, and she couldn’t help but adjust her position on the couch, a spark of anticipation mixed with arousal shooting down her spine. 

Pansy looked at Hermione, her cornflower blue eyes piercing her with new curiosity, and she arched a perfect eyebrow at her, took a shot of Firewhiskey, a smirk playing at her rouge-colored lips.

Harry was staring at Hermione, his mouth slightly agape, and she really couldn’t help the drunken wink she shot in his direction.

Ginny’s reaction wasn’t surprising to Hermione. She was bouncing in her spot between Harry and Pansy, clapping her hands together in giddiness, a wide smile on her beautiful face.

“Well, erm, that was- “ Harry began, but Ginny excitedly cut him off.

“So, you’re telling us the first time you fucked Draco Malfoy, it was in the _arse_? Fucking hell. Harry- “

Hermione leaned back in the couch, moaning in her throat as Draco’s hand slid further up her thigh, but shook her head, knowing Ginny well enough to know what she was about to ask. “No, Harry and I never did anything like _that._ ”

“Well, why the fuck _not_?” Ginny exclaimed, her hands falling to Harry and Pansy’s knees, squeezing them in her excitement. “That was hot. Harry, we’ve got to try that now.”

Harry’s face turned red, but the corners of his lips turned up and he leaned back until he sank into the cushions, his arms slinging over the back of the couch, Ginny’s hand riding up his thigh with the motion. Pansy recrossed her long legs, one of her hands reaching to absentmindedly play with a loose lock of Ginny’s fiery red hair.

Ginny turned her head, focusing on Pansy. “We need to go to that little sex shop. The new one in Paris? I saw all _sorts_ of double penetration toys. Maybe we can also convince Harry to let us peg- “

Pansy’s hand left her curl, a finger laying gently across Ginny’s plump lips. Her eyes finally left Hermione, and flicked to her wife. “We will, love.”

Ginny kissed Pansy’s finger, then smiled beatifically. Turning back to Hermione, she sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth before asking her next question.

“How often do you two _do_ that?”

Draco chuckled deep in his throat, his hand meeting the apex of Hermione's thigh, and threw back a shot of the amber liquor. “Well, Weaslette, I’m about to take her home and do it now, if that’s any indication.”

Ginny squealed and flung herself back in the couch, her hand on Harry’s thigh reaching for his belt buckle, her free hand finding the edge of Pansy’s skirt, and began to push it upwards.

“Fuck… I’m horny,” she slurred, smiling slyly up at Harry. Pansy leaned towards her, kissed her neck and whispered in her ear. Ginny’s features brightened, and bit her bottom lip, her eyes going hazy.

“I think it’s our turn, though, before anyone goes home and fucks until the sun comes up,” Harry offered, slouching further into the couch, adjusting his hips so Ginny had better access to his belt buckle.

“What should we show? A first just us or a first as a triad?” Ginny asked huskily as Pansy nibbled at the column of her neck.

“Mm… What about that time in Milan? Just us at Fashion Week? The first time I did that _thing_ you love so much?” Pansy murmured against her throat.

“Fuck, I haven’t seen that yet,” Harry moaned.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I am beta-less, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> With this particular story, I wanted to explore some post-war emotions and feelings that I feel like Hermione would deal with, especially given how she was all of those things I've described her as in this story: the know-it-all, the brains, the level-headed one, etc. How would someone like this deal after the events have passed (in this instance, the death of Voldemort was the event that passed)? I've included some of my own personal experiences (remember, coping mechanisms *are* subjective) in dealing with these very intense emotions. Therapy is always recommended and extremely helpful, especially if your coping mechanism becomes a detriment to your healing. BUT we all know it takes time to feel ready for something like therapy. Therapy won't work if you're not ready for it to work. 
> 
> We all love sex, and sometimes sex *is* used as a coping mechanism, but it is can *also* become an unhealthy coping mechanism in certain situations. Since this is a one-shot, we don't really get much information about Hermione's healing past this first time with Draco, but it's something I want to explore further in other stories. As you may or may not be able to tell from the end of the story, it was a memory she shared with her friends, so some time has passed between when the memory took place and "present day," though I didn't specify how much time. That was done on purpose because I may want to pick up where we left off here in another one-shot. :)
> 
> As of right now, the parts of this series are way out of order, timeline wise. After I get a few more of the one-shots written and posted, I'll rearrange them in chronological order. But the great thing about this series is they *can* be read independent of one another! 
> 
> I also have a Pinterest for my stories, if you want to check it out. It's still new-ish and pins will be added as time goes on: https://www.pinterest.com/ForgiveMeSeverus/


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